Page 34 of Mean Streak

“And the minute her back was turned…”

“To bed they went. From the start Alice has been afraid Emory would find out. Never meant for it to happen. Never intended to hurt anyone. Just one of those things. Nobody sees it coming.”

“So to speak.”

Grange was too excited for the double entendre to register. He kept talking. “She blubbered the typical guilt-trip stuff that people blubber when they’re screwing a friend’s spouse.”

Knight blew an air kiss to his wife, who’d brought him coffee. “So what about the spouse, our dear Jeff?”

“I asked her if she thought he had something to do with Emory’s disappearance. She jumped all over that.”

“Which direction?”

“Shot down the notion. Adamantly. Said it was unthinkable. Besides, she says he couldn’t have done it. She claims they were together from Friday evening till Sunday daytime.”

“Where?”

“Her house. They always shack there. She’s his client, which gives them a plausible out if Emory ever catches them.”

“Stop. I’m getting an image of him doing her taxes while naked.”

Grange laughed.

Sam thoughtfully sipped his coffee. “She says they were together all weekend, huh? Convenient, wouldn’t you say? Could be she’s only providing him with an alibi.”

“Could be, but I believed her, Sam. By that time, she was making me coffee. She was shaken and eager to cooperate.”

“Okay, so they were keeping the sheets hot till Sunday. Till how late in the day on Sunday?”

“After a late breakfast. Not too long before Jeff started making his round of calls.”

“Hmm. This isn’t good for us, Buddy. It doesn’t fit the Saturday night scenario we discussed last night. Either Alice is lying about him being with her all that time, or, if she’s telling the truth, when did he kill Emory?”

Grange thought about it. “He admits to driving up here on Sunday. Maybe he met Emory somewhere along the way. They set up a place to hash things out. Wherever that place was, he left her body, then drove on up here and did the woe-is-me.”

“Doesn’t work. Doesn’t for Saturday, either. Because ,” he stressed, “Emory’s car was in the parking lot on the mountain, preserved in two days’ worth of ice and fresh snow. Came to me in the middle of the night. She didn’t leave the mountain. Not in that car.”

“Shit.”

“We gotta put Jeff on the mountain, and so far we ain’t.”

“Double shit. But the thing is, Sam, I think he did it.”

“I think he did, too,” he grumbled.

Each contemplated the dilemma, then Grange said, “The extramarital affair, plus the money, plus his being a prick, gives us reason enough to hold him and buy ourselves a little more time to either break him, break Alice, find Emory’s remains, or come up with a piece of physical evidence.”

“You’re expecting a miracle?”

“They happen.”

Knight mulled it over and reached a decision. “Where you at?”

“In my car on the way back. About an hour out. I let you sleep in.”

“Thanks.” Knight consulted his wristwatch. “We’re supposed to pick Jeff up at nine.”

“I’ll make it back well before then.”

“So let’s pick up Jeff half an hour early, take him by surprise, and hit him hard with his infidelity. You know the drill.”

“I get to be the bad cop?”

“See you in sixty.”

***

“For God’s sake, Alice, would you please get a grip?”

“I don’t think you understand the implications, Jeff.”

“I understand them perfectly. I just don’t think we should panic simply because—”

“Because the detectives have somehow learned about us, when already you think they suspect you of harming Emory? You don’t think that’s cause for panic?”

“I’ll grant you it’s cause for concern , but let’s not blow it out of proportion. Now, take a deep breath, and tell me everything Grange said again.”

She talked him through it, but the repetition didn’t improve the message.

“He showed up at my door before daybreak, Jeff. The timing of his visit alone implies that they’re taking this—our affair—seriously. They see it as a significant factor of Emory’s disappearance. Forgive me, but that’s a bit unsettling.”

He didn’t dispute that. Grange had driven all the way down to Atlanta, which indicated that he and Knight’s random speculations had begun to solidify and actually take shape. Jeff feared that his designation as “frantic husband” might soon be traded for “person of interest.”

If that happened, media cameras would photograph him being escorted into the sheriff’s office by badged personnel with stern faces.

Interviews with him would then become official interrogations, and there was a distinct difference.

During the former, investigators were deferential and polite.

The atmosphere was sensitive and sympathetic.

An interrogation was just the opposite.

He would be forced to retain an attorney, and that was as good as an admission of guilt.

There would follow a massive groundswell of distrust and disdain toward him.

Nothing he said would be believed. He would be reviled by complete strangers and close associates alike.

His clients would question his integrity and take their portfolios to another money manager.

The thought of being subjected to such humiliation caused him to break into a cold sweat. Using a corner of the sheet, he blotted at the trickles of it running from his armpits down his ribs. However, the sour stench of it worked like smelling salts, jolting him back to his senses.

He was getting way ahead of himself. No one had accused him of anything yet. They knew he and Alice were lovers. So? Adultery was a sin, not a crime.

Nevertheless, in the minds of many it would be a serious sin to commit against Emory Charbonneau, champion of the downtrodden, sweetheart of the dispossessed.

It was time for him to take preventative measures before he was hung out to dry in the arena of public opinion, where already his wife outscored him by a wide margin.

If his infidelity came to light, he might be publically scourged. They’d sell tickets.

Abruptly, he said, “You shouldn’t have called me, Alice. That was the worst possible thing you could have done.”

“Would you rather I let the detectives show up and arrest you without any warning?”

With diminished patience, he said, “They’re not going to arrest me.

They have absolutely no basis on which to arrest me.

They can’t put me in jail for sleeping with you.

Which, under the circumstances, must stop.

I’ve got to be an ideal husband, the kind Emory deserves.

You and I shouldn’t have any further private contact. ”

“Until when?”

“I don’t know.”

“Jeff, please. Let’s talk this through.”

God, he hated her whining. And hated even more that he heard a car pull up just beyond the motel room door. “Don’t call me again.” He clicked off.

Far less confident of avoiding arrest than he’d let on to her, he moved quickly to the window and peered through the crack between the drapes. Knight and Grange were climbing out of their SUV, and they weren’t delivering doughnuts and coffee.

Why were they here a half hour early?

His phone vibrated. “Dammit!”

Knight shouted through the door. “Jeff? You up?” He sounded all business and by no means folksy.

Jeff’s phone continued to vibrate. Cursing under his breath, he answered in a whisper. “I told you. Do not call me again.”

Knight pounded on the door. “Jeff, open up. Now.”

In his ear, “Jeff?”

A key rattled in the lock. Knight had a key to his room?

Through the phone, “Jeff?”

A shoulder was put to the door and, when it came open, the two deputies practically fell into the room. Grange’s hand was on his gun holster. Both drew up short when they saw him standing there shivering in only his underwear.

He felt clammy, lightheaded, and breathless as he smiled and extended his cell phone to Grange. “It’s Emory.”